(come on, love) watch me fall apart
by uncorazonquebrado
Summary: "Not that I'm not enjoying our witty banter, but is there any particular reason you've decided to strap me to an ancient door?" A coda to 4x04. Klaus/Stefan


I blame Stefan's comment about Klaus' "Red Room of Pain" for giving me the plot bunny from Hell. seriously. this took way too long and it's kind of weird and I don't even know, you guys. Coda to 4x04

**warning: mildly dub-con and bloodplay if you squint**

as always, thanks to my loveliest friend and constant cheerleader nondescriptf for the beta.

**I own nothing. title borrowed from ben howard's "only love"**, give it a listen.

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The room is softly lit, the shadows of flickering candles dancing across the walls. Klaus blinks awake, groaning weakly as the walls sway before his eyes, dark dots dancing in his field of vision. His hands are tied uncomfortably above his head, shackled to his own, ancient torture device. Finding himself shirtless in the cold room, he tests the shackles with a tug but seems to end up further locked in place with every movement of his wrists.

Something's wrong.

Snarling in frustration, a small attempt to disguise his growing trepidation, Klaus tugs wildly at the restraints, yanking hard enough to blister skin. Nothing happens. Chest heaving he finally relents; suddenly too tired to fight, his shoulders throbbing dully. His bones feel inexplicably heavy, weighing him down, and he can barely remember the last time he felt this tired. He's been on the run for centuries, yet it's these final months that leaves him exhausted, worn down to the bone. Unconsciousness threatens to overtake him again, and his head lolls to the side.

"Giving up already?"

Klaus' head snaps up at the too familiar voice, his eyes narrowing to slits. "What's all this, Stefan?" Forcing a slow, drawl into his voice, Klaus masks his surprise with a lazy tilt of his head, as he tries to ignore the swooping feeling at the pit of his stomach.

Stefan replies with an indifferent shrug of his shoulder, doesn't answer the question. Stefan looks perfectly at ease, leaning against the door with his hands hidden behind his back. He looks good, Klaus notices idly, cursing himself for the unwelcome thought. It's worse than any curse, this inability to shake himself of the effect Stefan Salvatore has on him. There's no excuse for him to still be harboring this disgusting display of human foolishness.

"A bit dramatic, don't you think?" Klaus spits out, but goes silent as Stefan pushes away from the wall and saunters closer. There's a playfulness to his gait, a pleased look in his eyes, that forces Klaus to divert his gaze. He swallows hard as memories come rushing back; chopped up snippets from the 20's playing at the back of his head. The look in Stefan's eyes is the same look that would, without fail, mean a gruesome ending for whoever the ripper had set his eyes on.

"Oh, I don't know, it does add a 'nice touch', I'll give you that." Stefan says, trailing a hand down the edge of the ancient wood. "Did you eat the ones who made it?"

"Not that I'm not enjoying our witty banter, but is there any particular reason you've decided to strap me to an ancient door?" Klaus retorts, meeting Stefan's gaze head on. "You can't blame me for not keeping track of all your grudges now, can you, mate? Honestly, at this point keeping track is getting a bit tedious."

Stefan's eyes darken dangerously, the playfulness from moments ago gone in a flash. "That's the thing though, isn't it?" He speaks quietly, edging closer.

Swallowing hard, Klaus manages a quirked eyebrow, urging the other man on with a look.

"It's not about what I want; it's about what _you_ want." Stefan continues, his lips nearly grazing the shell of Klaus' ear as he speaks. "So tell me, Nik, what is it that you want from me?"

"I don't want anything from you." Klaus grits out between clenched teeth, cursing the way his voice takes on a strained note at the end. It's a lie, just like the last time he uttered those damned words and he knows it. They both know it. Klaus has never been the one to ask for nothing, always wanting, always greedy; clutching what he desires like a dragon holds its gold. He can almost feel Stefan's smile against his skin and jerkily tilts his head away.

It's somehow important not to admit to anything. It is part of the intricate game they've been playing, ever since Stefan's memories returned. Don't mention the past other than in generic, off-handed comments. Don't talk about the late nights at Gloria's. The tension that simmered for weeks, until it finally exploded, leaving bits of Klaus' sanity all over the walls. The stolen moments in back alleys or Chicago's darkest corners. He's never quite managed to put himself back together after their brief time together, no matter how hard he's tried. It could be that a piece of him was never returned, and has remained in the ripper's possession for nearly a century.

"You're lying." Stefan takes a step back, and Klaus nearly whines at the loss of proximity. Stefan moves his hand from behind his back to reveal a dagger; one of the slim, silver ones Klaus himself has used more times than he cares to remember. Rebekah's voice echo inside his head, bringing with it a bitter taste of regret at the back of his throat. Coward. Abomination.

"I've given you more than enough reason to want me dead, but you do nothing. What's stopping you?" Stefan continues, his hand clenching around the stake's handle. "Tell me."

Klaus sucks in a breath, forcing the lie out through gritted teeth. "Nothing."

"Stop lying to me!" Stefan roars suddenly, rage trapping his form somewhere between human and shifted for a moment. The anger is gone from his face as quick as it appeared, and Klaus watches Stefan carelessly toying with the weapon, twirling it around as his gaze slowly trails down Klaus' locked-up form. The slow, wicked smile is back on the ripper's face, widening as he traces the sharp end of the stake down Klaus' chest, the tip tangling momentarily in the chain resting against his sternum.

Klaus' breath catches, every cell of his being bracing itself for the cut. He can almost imagine it; the chill of the dagger slicing through muscle and sinew, lodging itself in his chest. For a moment he finds himself wondering if it would leave a scar, something permanent; evidence of the way he's completely at Stefan's mercy.

Unmoving, Klaus sucks in a breath as arousal overpowers his senses. The room seems to have shrunk, the walls inching closer with every labored breath he takes. Jaw working rigidly, he tries to speak up, say something, _anything_, that will divert Stefan's attention from his blatant display of weakness. He feels cut open and stripped to the bones already; all his secrets spilled out on the floor.

"Just look at you," Stefan murmurs, a mocking kind of pity coloring his voice as he brushes the pad of his thumb over Klaus' bottom lip, before gripping his chin tightly and forcing Klaus to look at him. "What was it you called Rebekah? A 'hopeless fool'?" Stefan chuckles quietly the memory, putting the barest hint of pressure on the stake; enough to draw out a small trickle of blood that runs down Klaus' torso before the wound quickly closes up.

Klaus hisses out a breath, straining in his shackles; caught somewhere between shying away from the stake, and getting closer to Stefan. He bares his teeth at the sound of the other man laughing, but quiets as Stefan steps closer, the stake trapped between their chests.

The kiss is unexpected, a barely there brush of lips, over so quickly Klaus barely has time to register what's going on. The spike of want through his veins is instant, and he bites back a moan at the sudden loss of contact. Even now, like this, he can't say no. It's a curse, the complete inability to ever reject his former lover. It's pathetic, _he's_ pathetic, a stray dog begging for scraps.

But the fact that Stefan still has the power to turn him completely inside out makes him strangely grateful. It's one thing that's constant, ever-present, as the ground continues to quake below his feet.

"But Rebekah was wrong, wasn't she, _Nik_?" Stefan speaks quietly, seemingly lost in thought, and takes a step back to rest a hand over Klaus' heart. The stake falls to the floor, forgotten, the sound it makes as it hits the floor bouncing off the walls. "It's like I can still feel it, stuttering in my hand." Stefan murmurs, eyes glued to Klaus' chest heaving underneath his palm and his nails digging into Klaus' chest, hips pushing closer.

Klaus shivers, nearly panting in a mix of shame and arousal. His mind is a scrambled mess, and there's no stopping the moan that escapes him as Stefan removes his hand, using his mouth to soothe the crescent-shaped marks left by his nails.

"_Mine_." Stefan whispers harshly against his chest, digging his fingers into Klaus' sides.

"No." Klaus bites out, managing a shake of his head despite every nerve ending in his body howling for more, closer. If he speaks the words out loud there will be nothing left, so he lies. Pushes the truth back down, buries it deep. _Yes_.

Stefan turns abruptly, heading towards the door in swift steps, but then stops, turns back around. Only then does Klaus recognize the frantic "_no_" ringing in the air as his own voice.

"'No'?" Stefan interrupts his plea, suddenly right back in Klaus' personal space. Maddeningly, dizzyingly close, hands closing around Klaus' belt buckle, tugging.

"Don't leave." Klaus chokes out, the fight leaving him in one shaky breath. "I can't...anything, I'll do anything, whatever you want."

"Say it."

"What?" Klaus asks, unable to keep up, too focused on Stefan's hands working on his belt; a litany of _finallyfinallyfinally_, running through his head at a deafening volume. "Anything."

"You know what." Stefan leans in to rest his forehead against Klaus' shoulder, molding himself flush against his body. There's a desperate note seeping into his voice, a tremor in his hands when they finally manage to get the belt open. "Please, Nik. I need you to tell me, there has to be a reason-"

"I –"

* * *

"Sir?"

Klaus startles awake, blinking against the pale light of the flight cabin. The stewardess is regarding him with the blank gaze of the compelled, one hand resting on the back of his chair. He rubs a hand across his face clammy with sweat, swallowing against the taste of bile. He's hard, pushing painfully against the zipper of his pants. "Give me your mouth," he commands, cringing at the unsteadiness of his voice. He reaches for his own belt with shaking hands, and spreads his legs to accommodate her.

"On your knees, there's a love," he rasps out, twisting a hand in her hair, wishing it was darker, shorter. The sound that escapes him as she swallows him down echoes in the empty space, and he squeezes his eyes closed hard enough to see stars.

It's over quickly, his orgasm ripping through him like a tidal wave, and if the name spilling from his lips isn't hers, well, no one will ever know.

Some secrets are best shared with no one.

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**the end.**

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uhm, sorry_notsorry_


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